


The Raw Food Diet

by ObliObla



Series: Obli's Fuckruary 2020 [6]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Humor, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: When Chloe gets a message to meet Lucifer at the penthouse, she dropseverythingto be there. Well, no she doesn't, but in hindsight maybe she should have.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Obli's Fuckruary 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619344
Comments: 15
Kudos: 177





	The Raw Food Diet

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6! Prompt: Food/Spit or Swallow.
> 
> Thanks to [Brokenjaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrael/pseuds/Brokenjaw) for all the beta help, and thanks to [matchstick_dolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_dolly/pseuds/matchstick_dolly) for the title suggestion!

“How do I look, Detective?” A smoky voice drifts in the half-light of the penthouse, desire etched into its lines. 

Chloe, having just stepped out of the elevator, walks around the bar, takes one _long_ look… and bursts into laughter.

Lucifer, the Morningstar, the great dragon, angel of the bottomless pit, and her boyfriend, pouts.

Chloe laughs even harder, almost bent double. “What… are… you… doing?” she asks through panting breaths. Because the Devil is splayed out on his bar, naked as the day he was… whatevered. Erect as anything, his chest, stomach, and hips are covered in admittedly artfully arranged pieces of sushi, a starburst of pink and orange and white and green.

“I saw it on _Sex and the City!”_ he crows, looking impressively offended for someone so aroused. He tosses his head impetuously, but carefully, to avoid displacing the nigiri and sliced maki, and continues in an affronted tone, “I’m a total Samantha.”

“I’ve… never seen that show.”

If anything, Lucifer looks _more_ offended and rather like he wants to jump up, roll out his fancy tv, and start marathoning it _right now._ But he’s clearly not willing to let the fish and rice and vegetables fall to the floor in a graceless heap. He grumbles a bit as he seems to realize that fact and slumps back to the bar.

Chloe, suddenly feeling slightly bad for laughing at her boyfriend so hard her ribs hurt, even if he maybe deserves it for being so ridiculous sometimes, decides she should at least _try_ to be into this. She walks over to him and smiles encouragingly. “I suppose I am a little hungry.”

As fast as it arrived, his annoyance evaporates in favor of a salacious grin. He spreads his arms. “Taste whatever you like, love.”

She deliberately does _not_ laugh at that, instead snagging what appears to be a cucumber roll from his left pec. She prepares to eat it, but pauses. Traffic was heavy on the 5—hell, traffic is _always_ heavy on the 5—and she was running a bit late anyway. It’s difficult not to consider the horrors of room temperature sushi. “How long has that been sitting out?”

“Do you mean me, the sushi, or my erection?” Before she can even begin to formulate a response, he adds, “I can promise you they’re all safe for consumption.”

She rolls her eyes and considers the piece of sushi again. It _looks_ fine, but… But this is Lucifer—lord of Hell, prince of darkness, king of fastidiousness—and she’s been known to eat sandwiches from the vending machine in the precinct. She can risk this. As she takes a bite, she realizes it’s actually pretty damn good. She’s not exactly a connoisseur, but she grew up in SoCal, and she knows her way around some makizushi. The rice is perfectly salted and vinegared, the cucumber crisp, the structure tight.

She grabs another piece before she can think twice about it. This one is something more complicated—avocado, a slice of glistening yellowfin, brilliantly colored roe. She slips it into her mouth….

And moans a little from the salt and cream and umami.

Lucifer’s grin turns slightly arrogant, but he also ratchets up the lewdness until it’s nearly obscene. “You like?”

She nods easily and, realizing how hungry she is, devours another two pieces, both equally delicious. “This is great! Who made it?”

He gestures extravagantly at himself. “ _Moi_ , of course.”

“You know how to make sushi?”

He shrugs, again with great care. “I know how to do a lot of things.” He makes it sound far dirtier than it has any right to. His eyebrows wriggle in a way that should be ridiculous but somehow isn’t.

She has no idea what to do with that, but her body has other ideas, and her many layers of work clothes are starting to itch. She ignores the discomfort in favor of picking another piece from low on his stomach. He groans a little at the contact, and his gaze is fixed on her lips as she eats the salmon nigiri.

Oh, _hell_ , this is working for her, isn’t it?

He just looks so damned _pleased_ that she’s enjoying herself. His expression is so free and open and easy that it’s difficult to rain on his parade. And really, she doesn’t want to. Sure, this is silly, but who cares? Her life has been so much more fun since he became a part of it, and damn if she doesn’t deserve some fun. So she giggles, plucks a slice of California roll from his hip, and pops it into her mouth.

Lucifer opens his mouth, and, rather than hear a comment that will doubtlessly make her ears and cheeks redden ridiculously like she’s some schoolgirl, she presses another piece of California roll between his parted lips. He smirks as he chews, not remotely discouraged. She’s about to look away, to find another piece of that delightful salmon nigiri, when he extends his head back, stretches his neck, and swallows with a sound and motion she can only describe as pornographic.

And that shouldn’t do it for her _either_ , but damn him and his ability to apparently make anything sexy. Her legs press together involuntarily, seeking any amount of friction, and she bites back an undoubtedly embarrassing whine. His eyes sparkle, the delightful bastard. Her next piece she grabs without touching him, hoping to spite him just a bit, but it doesn’t work at _all_ , especially when she hums quietly from the sweetness of the shrimp.

She’s such a mess, indulging him this, and it’s all his fault. He knows it too, arching his back ever so slightly to make his muscles ripple. She wonders when exactly she started finding his shamelessness this attractive. It was almost immediately, she acknowledges with a huff; that’s half the reason she was so annoyed in the first place.

Damn him. Well, don’t _damn_ him, but—

Oh, no, what’s he doing now?

What he’s doing _now,_ it turns out, is picking up a piece himself and slipping it into his mouth with a wanton groan that pulls blood to her cheeks and pools desire between her legs. And, if that wasn’t enough, which it comfortably is, he licks his fingers, _thoroughly,_ then his lips, all while staring directly at her.

Her jacket is the first thing that hits the floor, followed by her blouse, shoes, socks, and jeans. If she’s gonna do this, she’s gonna _do_ this. With some degree of awkwardness, she clambers up onto the bar, winces at how it pulls at her bare skin, and plops herself rather inelegantly onto his thighs. At no point during the process does his interest wane in the slightest, as if there is no sight more arresting to the Devil himself than an uncomfortably horny woman nearly kneeing him in the groin trying to straddle him.

It’s undeniably flattering.

From her new perch, the remainder of the Lucifer buffet is spread out beneath her, and he’s starting to get a fervent look in his eye like he’d rather she eat _him_. It takes a few seconds for her to pull her gaze away and fix it on a particularly appetizing looking piece of sushi that lies just above his belly button.

“Hey, why do you _have_ a belly button anyway?”

He rolls his shoulders contentedly. “Presumably for the same reason I have an appendix, a uvula, and a cock.”

“Which is?”

“Dad thought it was a good idea at the time?” He leers and jerks his hips, bringing her attention to his aforementioned member. “Complaining?”

“N-no.” She— _barely_ —manages to draw her attention back to the piece of sashimi, and as she leans over him, she wonders if she might be losing her mind, or at least her dignity. Her teeth scrape ever so slightly against his skin as she picks the sushi up with her mouth, and he moans flagrantly. She chews, swallows, then runs her tongue over his abs, making them jump.

Dignity is clearly overrated, and if this is madness, she could do much worse. So she grabs up all her uncertainty and buries it deep in a dark, dusty corner of her mind. She’s got more important things to focus on, namely kissing, licking, and biting every inch of Lucifer she can reach and feeding him the rest of the sushi. He takes it obediently, humming low in his throat every time her stomach brushes his cock. She doesn’t exactly discourage the contact.

When the silver platter, as it were, is empty, Lucifer produces a slightly damp cloth from somewhere with which to clean up the remnants of fish and vinegar. There’s something arresting about the look in his eye as he hands her the cloth, this moment they take as he pulls out a bottle of water to share. She means to take her time with it, but her clit is throbbing, and it’s all she can do to wipe him off a bit before she’s scooting forward precariously to grind her clothed center against his heat.

She scrapes her teeth over his Adam’s apple, and he hisses. His hands, which have been mostly idle thus far, launch into motion enthusiastically, grabbing at her ass and hip, pulling her into some kind of rhythm above whatever roughness her abruptly frantic arousal has managed. And it’s so, _so_ good, and she’s close already, from the anticipation and the friction and the weirdness of it all. Lucifer, it seems, is right behind her, shaking a little with the intensity of his…

No, he’s laughing, almost hysterical, even as he pinches her nipples and massages her breasts.

“What?” she asks breathlessly, though she doesn’t stop grinding against him, far too into this to actually be offended. She realizes with sudden clarity how Lucifer breezes through most of his life.

“I thought you found this absurd, and yet here you are”—he gestures at her far too calmly for how hot and hard he is between her legs—“ _enjoying_ yourself.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, tweaking his nipples a touch cruelly, but she’s smiling and _he’s_ smiling. It’s hard to feel anything but joy at how, after all the pain and complication that got them to this moment, this can be so easy and make her feel so free. In fact…

She pulls away, slipping off the bar, a little shaky on her feet, and concern flashes in his eyes for a moment before she can shoot him her best flirty grin. It’s terrible—she’s well aware that it’s terrible—but she knows he finds it endearing. “You said taste whatever I like, right?”

If a fallen angel could ever approximate the heart eyes emoji, he’s managing it. “ _Whatever_ you like,” he breathes.

She would like to say that she begins slowly, _sensuously_ , but she’s far too turned on for slow and she’s never been _great_ at sensuous, so instead she throws her hair behind her back, grabs the base of his cock with all the pomp and circumstance of a piece of sushi and slips his head between her lips. He chokes on a breath, and she grins around him, starting up a swift rhythm over what she can’t fit into her mouth with one hand while the other trails up his body, mapping out the muscles that tense and release.

His pulse is hard against her tongue, and she redoubles her efforts, not aiming for depth, instead increasing the suction of her lips until he cries out. One of his hands tangles in her hair while the other meets her free hand, and she entwines their fingers. They hold each other while his moans grow more and more hoarse and his head thuds against the bar.

With a final, guttural groan, he spills into her mouth, and she holds him there for a moment, standing upright, before swallowing him down. He’s staring at her lips with an almost unnerving intensity, and any awkwardness she could be feeling falls away. Her pulse is fast and hard and insistent between her legs, and the heated look he’s giving her isn’t particularly helping. Her skin is so sensitive that the gentle breeze from the air conditioner drifting through the room feels like a thousand clever fingers brushing against every inch of her body.

He clears his throat and turns their still clenched hands over. “May I… return the favor?”

She nods, and a second later he leaps off the bar and pushes her back against it. He presses his tongue between her lips to lick his own taste out of her mouth. He has a thumb on her clit, and his other hand keeps her upright as he abandons her lips to suckle her nipples, to suck a tender spot into her hip, to kneel in front of her and slide his tongue between her lower lips.

He delves deep, moaning into her heat, and she grabs at his head and the edge of the bar, keeping herself as stable as she can manage. His fingers tease her as his teeth scrape ever so gently against her folds, and she cries out from the contrast in sensation. Still, he presses closer, until the bridge of his nose is tight against her clit, and his tongue is hot where it reaches into her. He grabs at her hip, encouraging her to grind into him. She gives in immediately, abandoning the bar to clutch two handfuls of hair and ride his face until her ears buzz and her eyes cross and her moans turn into shouts that whine out of her throat.

When she crashes back to awareness, his head is still between her thighs, one of her legs is resting on his shoulder, and he’s licking her down from her peak. She pushes his mouth away as the sensation edges into pain, and he rises to kiss her with wet, hot lips. They kiss idly for a while as her breathing recovers, but soon she’s again throbbing between her legs, and she grabs him by the ass to indelicately haul him closer.

He grins against her lips and pulls away enough to speak. “You still see something you like, then?”

She doesn’t deign to respond, merely grabs him by the shoulders and hauls herself up his body. He catches her, thankfully, considering she doesn’t currently have the strength to hold herself up. She settles, instead, for taking his again hard length in hand, lining them up. She slides down onto him with a quick, rough thrust that has him staggering against the bar while her eyes roll up in her head.

“ _Hell_ , Chloe,” he groans, and she smirks, or tries to, but her nerves are so overloaded she can’t quite make her face do what she wants. Not that it matters.

He rights himself, starts up a rapid rhythm, and begins to walk through the penthouse. He uses the sway of his gait to increase the pressure, and it’s almost unfair how effective it is. Chloe, for her part, clings and mutters nonsense into his ear. But instead of carrying her up to the bedroom as he has dozens of times before, he instead takes her down the set of stairs opposite the bed.

There are many rooms down here, but she doesn’t currently have the mental wherewithal to wonder which of them contains their destination. Frankly, it doesn’t seem that important compared to pressing a hand between their bodies to play with her clit. She throws her head back dramatically—something she’s always liked from porn but never really had a chance to implement before Lucifer started using his super strength to make standing sex more than an annoying to achieve fantasy.

A door opens and closes, but her eyes are shut, and she’s focused on reaching her second peak. He sits them down, and she uses the additional leverage of the couch beneath them to lead them into a steady grind. One of his hands abandons her back where it’s been keeping her upright, but she merely leans forward, improving the angle. And she’s so close, so close, so close—

_Once upon a time, an English journalist came to New York…_

Chloe sits bolt upright in Lucifer’s lap, shakes her head to clear the buzz that’s already growing in her ears, and fixes her eyes on him. “Is that _Sarah Jessica Parker_?”

He purses his lips, trying to keep from laughing, but fails as the voice over to the pilot of _Sex and the City_ continues to play:

_It was love at first sight._


End file.
